


The ones who cared

by stjarna



Series: The family we choose for ourselves [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bus Kids - Freeform, Foster Family, Gen, Prequel, Teenage characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-10 19:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Prequel toThe family we choose for ourselves"Skye has been shoved from foster family to foster family more times than anyone should ever have at age 14, and yet, here she goes again. Her next foster home: Aileen and Leopold Fitz. Will it be another 2-month stay as usual?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilsciencequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsciencequeen/gifts).

> Only took me 2.5 years to start this prequel :)
> 
> Big thank you to @dilkirani for the beta.
> 
> Gifting this one to @lilsciencequeen because she said the original fic is one of her favorites.

Aileen looked through the window into the small conference room at the Child Protection Agency. The young girl in the room was maybe 15—just a bit younger than her son. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest, glaring in discontent at a spot in front of her as if she wanted to burn a hole into space and time. Aileen had seen that look before. Many of the older foster children she’d taken in over the years shared the brooding anger that years of being shoved from home to home brought along.

“She’s a tough one, I won’t lie,” Margerie told her. “Grew up at St. Agnes’ Orphanage. Then was shoved from foster home to foster home. Never a good fit. Sounds like her attitude has been getting worse. Tried to send her back to St. Agnes’, but the nuns gave up after two months.”

Aileen scoffed, her assumptions confirmed. “No offense, but it wouldn’t be the first time the nuns wouldn’t quite know what to do with a young girl going through puberty.”

Margerie chuckled weakly. “I think puberty is the least of her problems.” She shrugged. “But I’ve seen you handle some tough cases over the years, so my hope is she’ll settle in with you.”

“I certainly don’t give up easily.”

“You never have,” Margerie replied, her tone laced with admiration as she handed Aileen the girl’s file. “Good luck. Let us know if we can help.”

Aileen smiled at the social worker. “I will.”

She watched Margerie walk away, before opening the girl’s file, studying the various reports. She’d been dropped off at St. Agnes’ as an infant, and the nuns had given her the name Mary Sue Poots. Nothing was known about her history, her parents, her precise birthdate. She was thought to be born in 1989—14 years old, two years younger than Fitz. Yet, she looked older to Aileen, which was often the case with orphans who’d been through the system too much at a far too young age.

Aileen inhaled deeply before closing the file. She put on a friendly smile and opened the door to the small conference room. “Hello, Mary, I’m Aileen, I’m here to pick you up. You’ll be staying with us.”

The girl glared at her in disdain, her lips tight and her brow furrowed. “It’s Skye,” she growled through gritted teeth.

“Pardon?” Aileen squinted in confusion.

“My name,” the girl replied sternly. “It’s Skye.”

“Oh,” Aileen widened her eyes. She lifted the folder in her hands. “I just went with what the file said, but if you prefer to go by Skye then I’ll gladly oblige. My son, Leopold, prefers to be called by our last name, Fitz.”

“Oh, a foster brother,” the girl put on a big, fake smile. “Awesome.” She kept one hand folded across her chest, gesturing palm-up at Aileen with the other. “And what’s with the accent? Did they run out of foster homes in America, so they’re shipping me off to Australia next?”

Aileen couldn’t help but laugh. “If you think my accent is Australian, then you either have never heard an Australian accent before or living in America has influenced the way I talk far worse than I thought.”

Skye looked back at her, entirely unimpressed.

Aileen sat down across from the young girl, placing her file on the table and tapping it with her fingers. “It’s a Scottish accent,” she explained, trying not to sound too lecturing. “Though my father was an American GI, thus, I have dual citizenship and moved here about six years ago with my son.”

“Wow. That’s  _ so _ fascinating,” Skye remarked sarcastically, her arms still protectively crossed in front of her chest.

Aileen chuckled quietly, deciding not to bore the young girl with any more details about her personal life. “Well, what do you say, should we get going?” She got out of her chair and ticked her head to the side. “It’s not much of a drive.”

Skye shrugged, standing up herself and reaching for a large, worn duffle bag on the ground. “Whatever. I’ll probably be back here two months tops anyways.”

One corner of Aileen’s mouth ticked up into a pitying half-smile, the girl’s sad remark touching her deeply. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she said softly, opening the door and waiting for Skye to step past her. “How about we get to know each other better tonight over dinner? I thought I’d make haggis.”

Skye looked over her shoulder, squinting skeptically. “What the hell’s that?”

“It’s a traditional Scottish dish, a meat pudding made from sheep’s heart, liver, and lungs, cooked in the sheep’s stomach lining,” Aileen explained, closing the door to the conference room behind herself and trying to maintain a serious tone.

She could see the nausea build in the girl’s stomach as a bit of color left her cheeks. “Are you serious?” Skye asked in utter disbelief.

Aileen laughed out loud. “God, no! I don’t like the stuff and Fitz wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole, but your reaction was worth bringing it up.”

A little puff of air escaped Skye’s nostrils and her lips briefly pulled into a shy smile, before her gaze wandered to the ground as she walked down the corridor next to Aileen to the elevators.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't planned but thanks to a reader comment I decided to add it :)

“Fitz?”

Fitz looked up when he heard his mum’s voice from the entrance way.

“Kitchen!” he yelled, before focusing back on the insides of his Game Boy. He inspected his repairs before carefully closing it back up, reaching for his screwdriver to tighten the tiny screws. He heard his mum come in and did a quick double-take, ticking his lips up into an apologetic smile. “Just a second.” He exhaled sharply when he was done, placing his screwdriver back on the table and shifting in his seat to look more directly at his mum and the new arrival.

His mum smiled at him teasingly, gesturing at the young girl next to her who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. “Fitz, this is Mary Sue Poots. She likes to be called Skye, so we’ll respect that. She’s two years younger than you, and she’ll be staying with us—as you know.”

“Hey,” Fitz lifted his chin in her direction, trying to smile welcomingly, but the girl’s expression never changed.

His mum extended one hand in his direction to continue her introductions. “This is my son, Leopold. Like I said, he likes to go by our last name, Fitz. He also likes to take things apart and put them back together,” she added, eyeing the Game Boy on the table.

Fitz lifted his shoulders. “Only things that don’t work.”

His mum gave him a questioning sideways glare, and Fitz dropped his shoulders immediately. “Okay, _mostly _things that don’t work,” he corrected, earning himself a chuckle from his mum.

“Why do you want to be called Fitz?” the girl suddenly asked, eying Fitz skeptically.

Fitz looked at her in surprise. He furrowed his brow at her almost aggressive bluntness. “Why do you want to be called Skye?” he countered, equally grumpily.

“Because Mary Sue Poots sucks,” Skye barked back, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “There’s nothing wrong with Leopold or Leo or something.”

“I think that’s for Fitz to decide, wouldn’t you agree, Skye?” his mum chimed in, looking at Fitz in a way that immediately took away some of his tension at the reminder of why he so much preferred his last name.

Skye shrugged, pursing her lips briefly. “‘Suppose. Whatever.”

“Fitz, could you give Skye a tour of the house and show her her room,” his mum continued, seemingly satisfied with the short answer. “And maybe then we could order some food in for the special occasion?”

“Oh,” Fitz widened his eyes excitedly. “Maybe Chinese?”

Skye glared at him in apparent anger. “Oh, right, because I’m Asian?” she growled.

Fitz squinted at her in confusion. “Um, no, because we like Chinese food and haven’t had it in ages. But—but there are plenty of other options.” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Pizza, burgers, Indian, tacos. I—I was just shouting out my preference, sorry.”

“Why don’t we let Skye decide tonight?” Aileen suggested. “It’s her first night with us. That’s awkward enough as is. She should at least eat something she likes.”

“Actually,” Skye replied, a lot more quietly, “I do like Chinese.” She shrugged. “I just don’t like it when someone decides that for me.”

Fitz fanned his arms out to the side. “I really wasn’t suggesting it because I thought you were—”

“I know!” Skye interjected loudly, before adding more apologetically, “Sorry I overreacted.”

One corner of Fitz’s mouth quirked up briefly and he tried his best to soften his voice and body language. He ticked his head to the side. “So, should I show you around first?”

Skye’s lips twitched barely noticably into the ghost of an appreciative smile. She nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been done for awhile but I've been too busy to even find time to post it. Thanks for your patience.

Fitz looked up from the toaster he was trying to fix when he heard the front door open. He assumed it was Skye, since his mum was still at work. She’d been living with them for about two months now. His mum had been called to the principal’s office at Skye’s junior high on multiple occasions to discuss ‘the girl’s attitude,’ but all in all, Fitz felt like she’d settled in better than expected.

“Hey, how was the library?” Fitz asked his foster sister when she stormed into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge to get a bottle of water.

“Awesome. So many books,” Skye replied sarcastically, before immediately heading out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her room.

Fitz scoffed briefly in amusement and then focussed back on the device in front of him. A few minutes later, his stomach grumbled loudly. He got up and opened the door to the fridge, before pausing and glancing in the direction of the living room. He shut the fridge and headed up the stairs.

He knocked briefly on Skye’s door but didn’t wait for a reply before poking his head in. “Are you hungry, ‘cause I was going to make myself a—” He stopped, furrowing his brow and staring at where Skye was sitting cross-legged on her bed with a laptop propped up in front of her. “What’s that?”

“And here I thought you liked tech stuff or something.” She looked a bit deer-in-the-headlights, but her tone was her usual sarcastic and moody self.

Fitz opened the door wider and took a step inside. “Where did you get that?”

She shrugged, pursing her lips. “Someone gave it to me.”

“Someone gave you a brand new 17-inch aluminium PowerBook G4?” Fitz asked doubtfully.

“Well, they left it unattended.”

“You _stole _a laptop?” Fitz exclaimed in disbelief, placing his hands on his hips.

Skye shut the laptop with vigor and crossed her arms defensively in front of her chest. “If they really cared about it, they wouldn’t have left it lying around.”

Fitz gestured at her with one hand. “You can’t just go and steal a laptop!”

“_You_can’t tell me what to do!” Skye yelled back, fire in her eyes. “Believe me, the guy can definitely afford a new one.”

Fitz fanned his arms out to the side. “Doesn’t matter if he can afford a new one. Stealing is—”

“Look,” Skye interjected firmly, getting up from her bed and walking up to Fitz, pressing her palm into his chest and pushing him backwards out the door. “Computer Lab is the only class at school that doesn’t outright suck, and now I won’t have to go to the stupid public library anymore just to finish the _one_homework I actually don’t mind doing. The guy can handle it. His insurance will chip in for a new one. No one gets hurts. Now get out of my room and just chill.”

She threw the door in his face and locked it. Fitz knew she wouldn’t open it for him again any time soon. He slumped his shoulders and headed back downstairs.

* * *

Fitz stood behind his mum, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his gaze somewhere between the floor and the brown, smooth surface of Skye’s bedroom door.

For the second time, his mum knocked loudly. “Skye, please open up.”

A moment later, the door unlocked and opened. Skye held onto it with one hand, the other placed on her hip. “What?”

Aileen presented her palm. “Could you give me the laptop please?” she said matter-of-factly.

Skye’s eyes darted in Fitz’s direction, her nostrils flaring in anger. “You told her?” she barked through gritted teeth.

“Skye, just give me the laptop, please,” his mum repeated, just as calmly as the first time but more sternly.

Skye growled and spun around on her heels. She pulled the laptop out from under her bed and handed it to Aileen, never taking her angry eyes off Fitz.

“Thank you, Skye.” Aileen smiled before turning around and heading down the stairs, leaving Fitz behind, who somehow couldn’t pull himself away.

Skye crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Are you happy now? Are you finally getting rid of me?”

“Rid of you?” Fitz fanned his arms out in disbelief. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t get kicked out of school or thrown into juvie.”

“You’re such a fucking Mama’s boy,” Skye screamed in his face.

“Damn right, I am!” Fitz yelled back, frustration getting the better of him. “Because she’s had my back all my life. You wanna know why I wanna be called Fitz? Because Leopold was what my dad yelled at me every single time he thought I’d done something wrong—which was pretty much every bloody day. Because that name—and any cutsie nickname derived from it—were what he spat out like an insult, like it was the ugliest word in the world. And you know what, when my dad yelled, and called me stupid and weak and useless, my mum defended me. When he tried to hit me, she stepped in the way. And when he got worse, and his beatings got worse, she packed our bags and got us out of there.” He pointed behind himself into the hallway towards the stairs. “She used a citizenship she'd inherited from a man who’d never been there for her and moved across the Atlantic, so I would be safe, so I could be Fitz instead of Leopold. She fought through the courts with him until the divorce was final, until a restraining order was in place.” Fitz gestured at himself. “I owe her my life—and not just because she gave birth to me. So, yes, I’m a Mama’s boy and I’m not ashamed of that.” His index finger shifted direction, darting at Skye instead. “And don’t you dare be mad at her for taking that laptop and returning it to its rightful owner. She’s doing the right thing. You did the wrong thing.” He threw one hand in the air. “And she won’t rat you out. No one’s trying to get rid of you. This is your home. She’s trying to make sure it’ll stay that way. She’ll return the bloody thing and tell the police you found it in a dumpster or something. She’s just trying to help.”

Skye stared at him in silence for a moment, before the anger returned to her eyes and she shouted, “Go fuck yourself!”

Fitz sighed, shaking his head in resignation. He turned on his heels and headed towards the stairs, hearing the door slam behind him.

* * *

Fitz looked up from his book when his mum opened the front door a few hours later, darkness having long settled in the neighborhood. “How did it go?”

His mum hung up her jacket and took off her shoes, before waving him off. “It’s all fine.” She lifted her chin in the direction of the staircase. “How is she?”

Fitz shrugged. “We had a yelling match and she told me to go fuck myself before slamming the door shut. She thought me telling on her was my attempt to get rid of her.”

Aileen slumped her shoulders, pursing her lips. “I suppose I can understand why she would see it that way.”

Fitz sighed, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. “She just wanted a laptop so she could do her Computer Lab homework without having to go to the library,” he muttered sadly.

Aileen gave her son a close-mouthed smile, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “Well, this wasn’t the way to go about it though.”

Fitz shook his head. “No, it wasn’t.”

His mum ruffled his curls, her smile growing wider. “I’ll check on her. Maybe she’s cooled down a bit.”

Fitz nodded, watching his mum head upstairs before focussing back on his book, but he spun back around when his mum returned moments later, noticeably worried.

“She’s not in her room. The window’s open.”

“She bolted?” Fitz dropped back his head, before pushing himself up to standing. “Fuck!”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find—” A loud knock at the door interrupted his mum.

They exchanged a quick look, before Aileen opened the door.

“Larry,” she addressed her neighbor in surprise, though she immediately slumped her shoulders when she saw that he was holding up a clearly drunk Skye, who could barely stand on her own two feet.

“We found her in my tool shed,” Larry explained. “Think she must have seen me go in there to fetch a couple of cold ones from the extra fridge. Put a nice dent into my stash, but I figured we were all teenagers once who did stupid things and the hangover she’ll have will be punishment enough. I thought there was no reason to get anyone else involved.”

“Thank you, Larry.” Aileen replied, before looking over her shoulder. “Fitz, could you help Skye upstairs.”

Fitz nodded, grabbing one of Skye’s arms to drape it around his neck and snaking his free arm around her waist for support.

“Just leave me alone,” Skye slurred, barely conscious. “You don’t want me anymore.”

“That’s rubbish,” Fitz mumbled as he tried to drag her towards the stairs.

He had barely gotten her up and into the bathroom when the vomiting started. Aileen rushed in moments later, holding Skye’s hair back and giving her enough support to throw up into the toilet bowl.

“Fetch some water, for her, will you?” his mum asked.

Fitz nodded and headed down the stairs to the kitchen. When he returned a minute later, he found Skye half lying on the bathroom floor, half cradled in his mother’s arms. She was sobbing uncontrollably, her croaking, drunken plea barely recognizable. “Don’t send me away. Please don’t send me away.”

His mum stroked back Skye’s hair, rocking her gently back and forth. “Ssshhh, honey. We won’t. It’ll all be alright.”

* * *

It had been a few days since Skye had lain on their bathroom floor, to the brim drunk and crying uncontrollably. She had been quieter since then, less snarky, less defensive, almost fearful it seemed.

Fitz inhaled slowly, before knocking on her door.

He waited until he heard her quiet “Come in,” before entering the room.

“Hey, what’s up?” Skye asked, smiling shyly.

Fitz walked to where she was sitting at her desk and put the computer components he’d been carrying in front of her.

Skye furrowed her brow, looking first at the pile in front of her and then at Fitz. “What’s that?”

Fitz crossed his arms in front of his chest, pursing his lips and shrugging. “The tech guy at my high school lets me ransack the old equipment for spare parts. I don’t have everything I need yet, and it definitely won’t be a 17-inch aluminium PowerBook G4, but it’ll be decent, it’ll be portable, and you won’t have to go to the library for your Computer Lab homework anymore.”

Skye’s gaze wandered back to the computer components, her eyes widening as realization slowly set in. “You’re building me a laptop?”

“I thought I just said that,” Fitz replied dryly.

“Why?” Skye asked in disbelief, her eyes still fixed on the computer parts.

“You said you liked Computer Lab,” Fitz explained. “Everyone should have at least one thing they like. And the library smells like wet socks. I don’t blame you for not wanting to go there.”

She slowly looked up, tears in her eyes. “Thanks,” she muttered.

Fitz couldn’t help but smile. “Sure thing. I’ll let you know when I’m done.” He picked up the components and headed for the door, before spinning back around. “And Skye—”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” Fitz told her calmly. “This is your home as much as it’s mine. I hope you know that now. You’re not the only one who has trauma, Skye. Maybe mine is different, maybe I was able to leave it behind when I was ten years old, but it’s trauma nonetheless, and my mum helped me through it. So imagine what could happen if you allowed her to help you, too. If you allowed me to help you, too. Imagine what could be if you accepted that some people care about you.”


	4. One Year Later

Fitz narrowed his eyes in skepticism when he saw that Brendon Reynolds had sat down where Skye was sitting alone in the lunch hall of their Senior High. She had transferred there at the beginning of the year, having barely finished Junior High without getting kicked out. She was still struggling to make friends, though—as usual—she didn’t necessarily admit that. He let out a groan when he realized Skye was clearly not keen on Reynolds’s company and that his classmate was more than getting on his foster sister’s nerves. Reynolds had a reputation as a bully, though Fitz had managed to dodge the pleasure of experiencing it himself, and Skye seemed just like the kind of prey the jock was after—though he probably wasn’t aware of the fact that getting on Skye’s bad side could earn him a bruised shin at the very least. Fitz exhaled sharply and gripped his lunch tray more tightly as he walked over to where Skye was sitting.

“Hey, Reynolds,” he announced himself loudly to ensure he was getting the numbnut’s attention, “are we still on for later? Algebra, right?” He pursed his lips, shrugging slightly. “Or should I just forget about it—I mean, clearly you’re busy harassing my foster sister.”

Reynolds’s eyes widened as Fitz’s words slowly made their way into his miniature-sized brain. Then he quickly got out of his chair, rubbing the back of his neck apologetically. “Umm, yeah, no, we’re still on.”

Fitz put on a wide smile, staring Reynolds down. “Great. See you then.”

Reynolds nodded nervously and disappeared to the other end of the hall where his buddies were sitting. Fitz huffed out a satisfied breath of air before sitting down across from Skye, grabbing his juice bottle and giving it a few good shakes.

Skye stared at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “How the hell do you have a better rapport with the jock crowd than me?”

“I tutor them,” Fitz explained matter-of-factly, enjoying the fact that he seemed to have impressed his foster sister. He took a sip from his juice to allow him a more dramatic pause. “Give them a chance at that college football scholarship they and their parents are so keen on by making sure they get the bare minimum of grades.”

Skye’s eyes widened even more. “You tutor them? How did I not know that?”

“Tutor them. Do their homework. Potato—po-tah-to.” Fitz shrugged, grabbing his fork and inspecting the stew on his plate. “A little bit of both really. Doing their homework keeps their grades up throughout the year and they just have to make sure they pay enough attention in class and when I sit down with them so they don’t completely flunk finals. In any case, they get better grades and I get just a little bit of leverage so they leave me and my friends alone.”

“‘Cause if they don’t, their homework would suddenly be unexpectedly riddled with mistakes, and they can’t really blame the tutor for that,” Skye analyzed the situation.

“Precisely,” Fitz confirmed, poking his fork into the blob of mashed potatoes on his lunch tray.

“I don’t think I’ve ever admired you more,” Skye remarked, seemingly still a bit dumbstruck.

Fitz continued to prod the various contents of his plate with his fork, not quite sure yet what to eat. “Really? Not even that time I built you a laptop?”

“Hey, Leo.”

Fitz’s head shot up in panic at the unexpected interruption. He stared wide-eyed at his classmate. “Umm—uh—Sarah—H-hi.”

“I’m really sorry to bug you—” Sarah replied, overly sweetly, twirling her long ponytail around her left index finger, while her mobile phone lay in her right palm, extended in Fitz’s direction. “—but my new Motorola Razr got wet when we did this pep squad thing—you know—the car wash, and now it doesn’t work anymore, and my dad said he won’t pay for the repairs because it’s my own fault. I mean, he’s just the worst.”

Fitz hadn’t quite managed to fully close his mouth again after her mysterious appearance and all he managed was an acknowledging, “Uh-huh.”

“Anyways, you’re like super good with stuff like this, right?” Sarah continued, a big smile plastered to her face that even Fitz knew wasn’t quite genuine.

Fitz scratched the skin below his ear. “Umm. Kinda. A little.”

“Do you think you could fix it?” Sarah extended her phone further in Fitz’s direction. “I mean, it would mean the world to me.”

“Umm, yeah, no, sure.” Fitz hesitantly accepted the phone from her, turning it back and forth. “I can take a look.”

“Awesome!” she said overly joyfully, before furrowing her brow. “Do you think you could do it by tomorrow? Because I totally need it Saturday night.”

Fitz stared at her wide-eyed. “Oh, um, I—I don’t really know how quickly—I mean, without looking at it, but—but I’ll definitely try.”

Sarah’s lips pulled into a forced, ingenuine smile that Fitz nonetheless couldn’t resist.

“Or,” he stuttered, presenting his offer to her on his palm. “I could always drop it off at your house Saturday during the day. That’ll give me a bit more time to look at it.”

Her brow furrowed. “You know where I live?”

Fitz looked at her in disbelief. “We live on the same street.” he explained in a monotone. “The bus stops right across from your house. I see you there every day.”

“Oh, right,” Sarah exclaimed, back to her fake friendly self. “Well, sure, you could drop it off there.” She waved him off nonchalantly. “Just leave it with my mom if I’m not home.”

“Right, yeah, no, of course.” Fitz nodded, wiggling the phone in his hand. “It’s—um—it’s a date.”

“You’re the best, Leo,” Sarah replied, obviously ignoring his last comment. “Seriously. A life-saver.”

Fitz smiled at her with closed lips. “Sure, yeah, no problem.”

Sarah spun around on her heels, disappearing into the distance to where her pep squad friends were waiting for her, giggling uncontrollably. Fitz watched her leave, sighing somewhere between relief and longing, when Skye’s voice pulled him back to the table.

“What the hell was that?”

Fitz squinted in confusion. “She—she asked for my help. Sarah. She—we—we’re in English together.”

“She called you Leo,” Skye said sternly, placing her hands on either side of her lunch plate as if she were preparing to interrogate him.

Fitz shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

“You hate that.”

“Hate’s a strong word,” he tried to defend himself, though his foster sister looked right through his weak argument.

“Fitz?”

Fitz groaned, dropping his head back momentarily. “I like her, okay. I’ve had a crush on her since—since—forever, and this is the first time I’ve exchanged more than two words with her. She can call me Leo. She can call me butt-face for all I care.”

“Dude, her?” Skye gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. “Really?”

Fitz fanned his arms out to the side. “Look, I know she’s way out of my league, but—”

“No, dude, you don’t understand.” Skye held her hands up in a soothing gesture. “She’s not out of your league. You’re out of hers. You’re smart, like genius-level smart, and nice, genuinely nice, and she’s so shallow and manipulative. Believe me, you can do better—way better. And if a girl really likes you, she’ll call you by the name you want to be called.”

Fitz narrowed his eyes. “Did you just compliment me?”

Skye gestured at him with her mac’n’cheese-adorned fork. “Don’t get used to it.”


	5. A Few Years Later

Skye walked sleepily into the kitchen. She didn’t have morning classes on Fridays, so—as usual—Aileen had let her sleep in, counting on Skye to be diligent and get herself to school. It usually worked. Ever since Fitz had left for college, it had been just the two of them. She smiled when she saw the birthday cake adorned with two candles—a 1 and an 8—waiting for her on the kitchen table. She dipped her index finger into the frosting and licked off the sweet, sugary goodness, while her eyes wandered to the handwritten note that Aileen had left for her next to the cake.

> _Happy birthday, Skye!_  
Fitz is coming home tonight for the occasion and then we’ll head for a celebratory family dinner. Your choice of restaurant!  
Feel free to get started on the cake. I’ll see you after work.  
Love, Aileen.   
P.S. We may have more to celebrate than your birthday! Stay tuned!

The letters suddenly became blurry, merging into unrecognizable blobs as Skye’s eyes filled with tears. She didn’t know why she reacted the way she did. Maybe it was the number on the cake, symbolizing that she was now legally an adult. Maybe it was that four-letter word that Aileen had used. It wasn’t the first time, but somehow it struck Skye differently seeing it written. Or maybe it was that six-letter word: family. Something she’d never thought she’d be a part of. Something she’d always been denied. When Aileen had picked her up almost four years ago, she’d thought she’d be back with the nuns, back with Child Protection, shoved to another foster home after two months tops, like so many times before. But she’d stayed. Somehow through all the turmoils and difficulties, she’d stayed and they’d let her. They’d cared. And she cared. She cared about them, she loved them. They were the family she’d always dreamed of. But suddenly, in that moment in the kitchen it was as if fear strangled her—of what, she wasn’t even sure, but she was sure there was only one solution.

* * *

Fitz pushed the front door to the house open, duffle bag over his shoulder and laundry basket tucked under his arm. “Hey, Mum, hey, Skye,” he called into the empty living room.

“Hey, my boy,” his mum’s reply echoed from somewhere upstairs.

Fitz dropped his duffle to the ground and headed straight for the basement. “You mind if I throw in a load of laundry? I ran out of quarters and am in desperate need of clean clothes.”

“Of course. Go right ahead.”

Fitz headed downstairs and quickly filled and started the washer, before rushing back up, taking multiple steps at a time. “So, has Skye decided where she wants to go to celebrate her birthday, because I know it’s her choice and all, but I’m dying for some—” He stopped in his tracks at the top of the stairs, still holding on to the bannister, when he noticed his mum’s somber expression where she stood by the sofa, wringing her hands nervously. “Mum?” he muttered, noticing his heart suddenly beating faster.

“Please sit down, Fitz,” Aileen said calmly, gesturing at the couch, and Fitz noticed the sadness in her tone.

“What’s going on, Mum?” Fitz asked, wandering to the couch and sitting down. He furrowed his brow, looking around the room. “Where’s Skye?”

His mum sighed deeply before sitting down next to him, reaching over to cover one of his hands with hers. “She left.”

Fitz’s eyes widened in shock. “What? When? Why?”

Aileen leaned forward, grabbing a piece of paper from the coffee table and handing it to him.

_Had to leave. Don’t try to find me, _Fitz read in silence, before shaking his head. “I don’t understand. Why?”

His mum pressed her lips into a thin line. “I’m honestly not sure either.”

“Did she know about your adoption plans?”

Aileen shook her head. “I was going to tell her at dinner.”

“We should—I mean—” Fitz jumped up, the adrenaline now rushing through him making it impossible to sit still. “Have you called the police or—?”

His mum got up slowly, placing her hand calmly on his forearm to stop him from pacing. “Fitz, she’s eighteen. We have no right to track her down. She wants to be left alone. We should respect that.”

Fitz slumped his shoulders, tears slowly creeping into his eyes. “But—I don’t under—”

“I know.” Aileen smiled sadly, pressing her palm against Fitz’s cheek. “I know, honey.”

“You think she’s safe?” Fitz asked, nervousness making his voice tremble.

“I hope so. You know she’s a tough one.”

“More so on the outside—” Fitz mumbled under his breath.

His mum chuckled weakly. “Still, she may have a gentle heart deep down, but she’s strong. She’ll be alright.”

Fitz pursed his lips, unable to reply.

“Should we order in?” his mum asked, trying to uphold a sense of normalcy though her tone was laced with sadness. “I don’t feel like cooking—or going out.”

Fitz nodded in silence, wiping across his eyes with the heel of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about this sad ending, but if you've read The Family We Choose for Ourselves then you know it was coming.
> 
> My next plan for this universe is a fic about how Fitzsimmons meet. Hope you'll enjoy it.


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